


my fingertips are holding onto

by tobewilder



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobewilder/pseuds/tobewilder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana is fourteen for two more weeks when her world tilts. It leaves her feeling off-balance, like she’s got one foot on the pyramid and one foot off, and most of her expects the world to right itself again by the end of the summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my fingertips are holding onto

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, the idea for this is to treat Santana, Brittany, and Quinn less like the caricatures RIB seems to think they are and more like real people, and to explore how they got to the place they are. Hence the title from Kate Nash's "Foundations". Less seriously, it's just my head!canon for the Unholy Trinity. Be warned: Santana loses her virginity, and it's not to Brittany.

Santana is fourteen for two more weeks when her world tilts. It leaves her feeling off-balance, like she's got one foot on the pyramid and one foot off, and most of her expects the world to right itself again by the end of the summer.

They are freshmen, and it is delicious. Cheer camp is brutal, but the social approval isn't, and Santana fights the senseless impulse to do a backflip when Courtney Keller, senior captain, picks her for her base. Eight weeks of Sue Sylvester's crazy diets, sprints, and endless run-throughs are worth it when the seniors throw a party and—Santana still can't quite believe it—invite them.

Santana's arms ache with every step and her legs are well beyond the threat of giving out, but when she jumps in the car with Quinn, her eyes are bright and all she can think of is Courtney Keller's face, those glossy lips forming the words 'you're invited, deets soon.'

"You're going to go, right?" Quinn silences Santana with a sharp look. "What?"

"Your mom?" Quinn hisses, motioning toward the driver's seat. Santana's mother picks them up from cheer camp on Tuesdays and Thursdays, chatting away on her Bluetooth headset with her yoga mat rolled up in the back. Santana can see the promotion in the way her mom starts wearing heels that clack on the wooden floors in the hall when she leaves for work in the mornings, well over an hour before Santana is supposed to be awake. Her mom buys blazers and leaves her notes in the kitchen with her lunch money stuffed in an envelope taped to the fridge, doesn't say a word when Santana quits track for cheerleading and stops closing the door when she fights with her dad.

"Mom?"

"No, tell Carter to move the meeting to Monday. Hold on just a second—what, Santana?"

Santana's never lied to her parents before. In middle school, it was the honest truth that she was going to Britt's house for the night—it just so happened that Britt's parents weren't home, and her older sister was locked in her room with her boyfriend by ten, and the key to the liquor cabinet was in Mr. Pierce's desk drawer, and hers and Britt's boyfriend were just in the neighborhood. It's not lying if you just don't tell them, she had told Brittany, and anyways the most she'd ever done was let Brian Kirk touch her boobs in April of eighth grade during truth or dare. Under the shirt, over the bra, as Brittany had giggled next to her.

Still, she's seen enough TV to know how it's done, and this feels different somehow, like she's on the cusp of this grand new life that she knows, instinctively, her mom can have no part in. "Can I spend the night at Britt's tomorrow?"

"Sure, honey," she says distractedly, and turns back to her headset.

Santana turns to Quinn's tense, frightened face and smiles, thinly. "Easy," she breathes.

Quinn isn't so sure. "Britt's going, then?"

"Of course."

"I don't like lying."

"Listen, Q," Santana says, straining against her seat belt to turn and face the other girl. "We're in high school now. Courtney Keller invited us to a party. At her house. With the football team. Do you get what I'm saying here?"

"I'll wait until I'm actually in high school to make my dumb decisions, thanks," Quinn says, with an edge Santana's only heard when she's telling Puck off for doing something stupid. "I'll see you tomorrow," she says, softer, as Santana's mother pulls up in front of the Fabray house. "Thanks, Mrs. Lopez."

"Bye, Brittany," Santana's mother says from the front seat.

\---

Santana's cousin Maria left a pile of clothes the last time she visited. Maria, who had been suspended from Carmel for getting caught with a teacher in a broom closet, had stayed in Santana's room for a few months while her parents settled their divorce.

"You've never had sex, have you, Santana," Maria had teased one night as Seth and Summer made out on Santana's TV.

Santana tore her eyes away from the wet tendrils of hair sticking to Rachel Bilson's cheek, indignant. "Have too!"

Maria turned, raising a perfectly penciled eyebrow. "Yeah? Who'd you screw?"

"Brian," Santana said without thinking. "My boyfriend, duh."

The corners of Maria's mouth had twitched, but she hadn't pressed the issue. Santana had felt a flare of embarrassment—she should've named one of the older boys in the neighborhood, not Brian, whose lips had only recently moved from her cheek to her mouth and whose palms still got clammy when they held hands at the movies. She should've named Robby, the boy at camp last summer who kissed her by the lake and promised to write.

"Sex isn't that fun," Maria had said, settling back into the covers. "It's just fun because it's really easy to get. All a boy has to see is your legs in a little skirt and you're in. Boobs if you've got them, which trust me, you will in time for high school."

That Friday night, staring at the pile of clothes that aren't hers, Santana thinks back to Maria's red, red lipstick, and the way her ass looked when she sashayed out of their house in her little leather skirt. She thinks, wildly, of Brittany's legs in the Soffees they wear to cheer camp, and how her own boobs have started to strain at the bikini tops they bought at Target the summer before, and the way Courtney Keller's t-shirts pull around her waist.

When she arrives at Brittany's house to get ready, Brittany is sitting on her bed with Lord Tubbington, wearing cutoffs and a one-shouldered top. "There you are!" she squeals, pulling Santana in and closing the door behind her. "Christina and her boyfriend are already here, so we're good to go. Why'd you bring a bag, silly? We're going to a party, Christina said to wear something with pockets and to just bring our phones."

Santana feels very stupid when she pulls Maria's leather skirt out of her sleepover bag. "We're going to a party, right, Britt?"

Brittany just grins. "You're going to look totally hot. Put it on!"

She does look hot, and even if she personally thinks Maria's bright red top doesn't fit that well on her, Brittany murmurs that she looks totally great and tugs so she feels the cold air of the room between her boobs—in her cleavage, she reminds herself, and borrows Brittany's cherry-flavored lip gloss.

"Hey, Britt?" she says when they're standing at the foot of Courtney Keller's driveway. Cars are lined up on the grass beside the gravel, the iron gates are wide open and Santana can hear the music coming from out back. It's all so real all of a sudden, and Santana finds herself unexpectedly scared. "Are you nervous?"

Brittany turns, and in the shaft of light from the streetlamp, her eyes are wide with excitement. "C'mon, San! It's our first high school party!"

"Britt—wait—" Santana grabs at the taller girl's wrist to stop her from bouncing over to the door.

"Santana, it's okay," Brittany says, looping her arms around Santana's neck. "It's just a party. Courtney wants you to be here, and the entire team is here anyways." She smells comforting, like oranges and laundry detergent, and Santana feels a little more at ease.

"Did Christina have any tips for this?"

"She said don't take drinks unless you see who poured them, avoid beer because it's gross, and don't go home with anyone."

Santana's stomach lurches. "Wait, would you really go home with someone tonight? Here?"

"No, silly," Brittany says, grabbing Santana's hand and linking their pinkies together. "I'm here with you, aren't I?" She starts walking down the gravel driveway, and almost without thinking, Santana follows.

\---

Parties, Santana thinks, are amazing.

She's up on a table in the living room with Britt, a couple of sophomores, and Courtney Keller, dancing to Beyonce and giggling into her cup. Everything feels lighter and easier with the steady murmur of the crowd in her ears, and the fruit punch Courtney handed her with a grin actually tastes less bitter now, three cups in.

"You girls are the best freshmen ever!" Courtney yells over the music, and the entire room howls in appreciation. Santana feels Brittany behind her, solid and warm, and Courtney's toned, tanned stomach is nothing short of mesmerizing as her hips bump and slide, but Santana can only think of Brittany's legs, and that thing she learned to do with her hair at hip hop this year, and then she turns and catches Joey Palmer's eye, and it's all very overwhelming and she is suddenly very aware of being very drunk.

The song ends and the crowd in the other room starts chanting someone's name—No-ah, No-ah, she hears, and it must be Puck, that idiot, doing a keg stand—and when Santana crouches to get off the table, Joey Palmer is there, offering a hand and a smile.

"Thanks," she says, slurring her s more than she would like, and looks up at him, at his broad, broad shoulders and bright blue eyes. "Wow. Hi. You're Joey."

He laughs. Her hand is still in his. "Yeah, I am. You're Santana, right?"

"Yeah," Santana says, and feels her face breaking out into a silly grin. "I'm a Cheerio. Are you a football player? Let me guess, wide receiver?"

He gasps in mock shock. "How'd you know?"

She ends up next to him on the couch with his arm slung around her shoulder, watching a game of beer pong as he explains the rules. He's got a hand on her knee and he's leaning in closer and closer to her ear and she's feeling warm and a little nervous when Brittany appears in the door with Rod Baker, laughing with her head flung back, and something in her stomach plunges at the way Rod's eyes are blatantly skating down Britt's body, and the way his hand slips around her waist.

They settle on a couch facing away from the pong table and Santana doesn't think, she just strains her neck to see what's going on. Brittany is sitting on Rod's lap and his fat, piggish hands are playing with her bra strap and Santana can't breathe. All of a sudden, she feels as if something terrible is happening, something beyond her control.

Joey notices her looking and gently paws at her face, turning it back to him and his blue, blue eyes. "Don't worry about your friend, Rod's my boy."

"I'm not worried," Santana says, and turns back around to see Brittany's lips attached to Rod's, crudely, like someone pasted them together, and her stomach turns, and without thinking she kisses Joey, grabs his stupid polo shirt by the collar and lets him pull her onto his lap, lets his hands slide down her back to grab her ass.

"You look so hot in this skirt," Joey says when they pause for breath, and because his blue eyes are a little too glassy and a little too dark to be the right color, Santana presses her boobs against his chest, murmurs "shut up" against his lips and kisses him again.

\---

She ends up upstairs in Courtney's guest room with Joey, and if Joey notices how she looks up every now and then as they're going up the stairs as if she's searching for someone, he doesn't say anything. It's only when he drops her onto the bed, closes and locks the door that she realizes what's about to happen.

Panic shoots up her throat, settling in the back of her mouth with the leftover taste of vodka and the queasiness in her stomach. Britt, she thinks, irrationally, as Joey pulls his shirt off and crouches over her again. Britt, she thinks again through her haze, as she busies herself with kissing him back, sliding her hands down his chest, lifting her arms as he pulls her top off.

The air feels too hot and too stuffy around her ears and too cold around her bared boobs and thighs when he unzips Maria's leather skirt—Maria's smirk flashes briefly through her mind, "You've never had sex, have you, Santana?"—and it's dark in the guest room, but Joey must feel her tense up or see it on her face because he pauses just as his fingers work under the waistband of her panties. "Wait," he says, too sharply to be drunk. "You've done this before, right?"

"Yeah," Santana says, and then, smoothly and without a thought: "You got a condom, right?"

He slides back up her body, her skirt slips off her foot and onto the floor, and the bulk of him settles over her, his mouth hot and gaping on hers, and she realizes with a jolt that that's his dick pressing against her thigh. It's harder than she imagined, and hot and smooth to the touch when she reaches down to curl her hand around it, and Joey's answering groan tells her everything she needs to know.

She thinks briefly about dryness and wonders if maybe she should've sucked him off, but then he leans back to roll the condom on and his fingers reach and press and oh, this is what sex is, isn't it? She finds herself a little turned on, and then he slides her panties off and oh, she's really wet, and his fingers are back, teasing and stroking and her mouth opens almost involuntarily and she makes this noise she's never heard from herself before. She thinks briefly of blonde hair and the smell of oranges and laundry when Joey nudges her knees further apart, and when he sinks in, full and unfamiliar and stretching and ache, she can't help the "oh" that escapes her lips, out of surprise or the sudden clarity of it all.

\---

When it's all over, Joey lies there for a bit, talks to her about football and parties and his car, staring up at the patterns the shadows from the tree outside the window make on the ceiling. And because she's naked on Courtney Keller's guest room's bed, she lets him get her number, and waves him off with a smile when he gets up, almost apologetically, to go to the bathroom. She waits until he's closed the door to get off the bed, put her clothes back on and slip out the door.

Brittany is standing by the front door when Santana comes down the stairs. She's looking around like she's lost, and Santana feels like she's cracking in two when Brittany greets her with this huge smile and folds her arm around her shoulders. All of a sudden she's nauseous and she doesn't think it shows, except then Brittany turns her around before she can look for Courtney Keller and then they're out the door, and Brittany's on the phone with Christina, and then they're walking down that long gravel driveway and then they're back in Brittany's room, lit by the soft orange glow of her beside lamp.

"San, are you all right?" Brittany says, more kindly than Santana knows how to deal with.

"I'm fine," she says sharply, and immediately regrets it. It's the first time she's sounded like a total bitch in front of Brittany and it feels weird on her tongue, as if the air around them is suddenly colder and everything's in focus.

If Brittany notices, though, she doesn't say anything. "Joey Palmer, right?"

Santana closes her eyes. "How did you know?"

Warm, slim fingers pull gently at her wrist. Santana uncrosses her arms and lets Brittany pull her in. "Your skirt's on backwards," she murmurs. Santana finds that she doesn't feel a thing, she doesn't feel nausea or disappointment or pain or ache or anything, just warmth and the press of Brittany's arms around her waist. And because Brittany is so close, and her breath against Santana's ear feels natural, like it belongs, she turns and kisses the corner of Brittany's mouth, chastely, and that's when her world tilts, and the way Brittany's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the small of her back make it spin just that much further.

The moment passes, and the roaring in Santana's ears subsides. She pulls out of Brittany's embrace, gently like nothing's happened, and goes to Brittany's drawers to find a spare t-shirt. She feels like something is closing over and over in her chest, and she doesn't realize her hands are shaking until Brittany appears beside her, calm, offering a pair of dark green Soffees and a worn county fair shirt Santana recognizes as her own.

They sleep facing away from each other that night. It's not the first time, but Santana feels the change in the air, she hears the way Brittany's lying awake, doing her best to pretend like she's sleeping too, and curls further into herself, pressing her thighs closer and closer together under Brittany's comforter.

In the morning, Santana will tell Brittany to shut up for the first time in their lives when she tries to bring it up, and she will spend two agonizing days waiting for Joey Palmer to text her before he asks her on a date, and Brittany will remain expressionless, staring at the space to the left of Quinn's head, when Santana tells her that no, she lost her virginity to Robby at camp. Santana's words will grow sharper and she'll start talking differently when Maria comes to live with them again, and Santana will kiss Brittany—really kiss her, like she wants to, like she means it—upstairs at a party at Rod Baker's house four weeks into high school. Her parents will get divorced and Quinn will become the enemy and then they'll join Glee and it'll all turn to hell, but for now Santana presses her nose into Brittany's pillow, lets herself drink in the smell of oranges and fresh laundry, and fights the ache in her chest and the matching looseness between her legs as her world tilts, tips, and spins out of her control.


End file.
